You might think Jim has mellowed now that he's rich and famous, a father and a tv star with his own show in the States. Then he says something so outrageous you forget to breathe for laughing. He has cut down on his misogynistic material but nothing is ever really off limits.
Tonight, a trio of trolls arrive late, having written off their rear wheel drive BMW in the snow. Their seats are in the middle of the third row (not the BMW's - that would have been a really bad crash). I'm sitting nearby in the fourth row (good seat, near the front and unusually in the stalls, as my wife prefers the circle, away from danger). I know about the car incident as hoodie troll number one uninvitedly relates the story to Jim. Then proceeds to believe he's the star of the show and keeps interrupting. Jim closes him down like a Jongleurs' professional, with put down after put down. It is an art form to listen to. Fortunately, it doesn't spoil the show and leads us into two fabulous heckle stories involving a down syndrome man and a lady who'd miscarried six weeks earlier (during a kicking dead babies around in heaven routine).
This kind of material was why I'd try to dissuade my wife from coming. I didn't think it would be her thing. But then my mate got ill and plan B became plan D so she came with me, albeit with as frosty an atmosphere as it was outside.
Time was tight before we left after a longer than expected dog walk in the snow. I didn't change out of my walking boots and heavy coat so we could leave immediately. I thought it would be okay to wear anyway given the conditions. It wasn't until we were in the queue outside the venue that I realised I still had my Nightsearcher Commander torch in my jacket pocket. This is a serious piece of hardware, capable of 1000 lumens, with a solid metal chassis. Not the kind of tool you should be carrying to a comedy gig. There wasn't time to go back to the car.
Worry became panic as we got closer to the door. If I got patted down, they'll definitely feel it in my pocket. I'd have to hand it in. I considered putting it down my pants but then wondered if there was a metal detector beyond the door. How would I explain the beeps when they waved the hand held over my crotch? It's not the kind of area that normally needs illuminating, especially with a thousand lumens. Fortunately, they neither patted me down nor used a metal detector. Security consisted of handbag checks only. Jim Jefferies, you are lucky to be alive. But at least I could have pitched in if a spotlight failed.
Did my wife like the show? No.
Why? It was too cold.
Now I know why she really prefers to sit in the circle - it's warmer.
I thought he was fantastic. A masterclass in storytelling comedy.
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